


All Of Me

by michelleSorta



Category: Gangsta. (Manga)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Benriya OT3, Canon Disabled Character, Crimes & Criminals, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Everyone lives except for the bad guys, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, No Twilights, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex, Violence, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 09:20:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4619997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/michelleSorta/pseuds/michelleSorta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It begins with a box.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Of Me

 

There is a single box in front of the door.

It’s a plain brown box, battered and haphazardly covered in what looks like normal desk tape rather than packing tape.

Worick peers out of the apartment doorway, looking both ways down the empty hall.

It has been a long, long time since someone has rented the apartment across from them.

They usually do not last more than a week in District 8.

Nicolas shuffles behind him, sleep still in his eyes before he finally focuses in on the object of Worick’s attention.

‘ _Who_?’ Nicolas signs.

“Beats m- “

“Excuse me!”

A flurry of warm brown skin and rich black hair momentarily obscure their vision. A woman pauses in front of the door, in front of the tattered looking box, and slides the key into the scratched keyhole with one smooth motion. With a jiggle and a grunt, the lock heaves and clicks and her shoulders slump in relief.

“Oh,” she turns around, finally remembering the two men she nearly collided into. She glances at them nervously but still extends a hand towards them. “Hello, I’m Alex Benedetto.” Her fingers tremble just the slightest. “I – I will be living here for a while.”

“Hello, beautiful,” Worick grins widely as he grasps her hand and squeezes it comfortingly. “I’m Worick.” 

“It’s a pleasure, Worick.” She peers over his shoulder, “And…”

Nicolas makes no effort to move towards her. His gaze flickers to her face and rests there.

“He’s deaf as a doorknob,” says Worick casually. “His name is Nicolas.”

“O-oh…”

“He’s always in a _mood_.” Worick shoots an easy-going smile toward him before continuing. “Anyway, welcome to the neighborhood. We’re the local handymen for the area, we go by _Benriya_. If you ever need anything,” he leans close, “ _Anything_ , just ask.”

Alex flushes at the proximity. He may only have one eye but it does not lessen the intensity of his stare. This…she is not used to people looking into her eyes like this.

She’s not used to be people looking into her eyes at all.

“I will remember that,” she assures him with a squeeze of her fingers. She leans to the side and catches Nicolas’ eye, “Thank you both. For the welcome.”

Nicolas turns around and walks back into the apartment. 

-

Alex does not leave her apartment for three days.

Worick and Nicolas do not see any movers or visitors walk in or out of her apartment. District 8 Apartments is not necessarily the nicest housing area in Ergastulum but there is hot water (usually) and there has not been a gang shooting since she’s been here.

The personal privacy it places on its tenants is impeccable.

It’s no wonder the rent is so high and the vetting process of tenants so rigorous despite the lackluster amenities.

“You think she’s okay in there?” Worick asks one day. He’s out in the balcony, a cigarette in his hand.

Nicolas shrugs from the couch, too busy examining his shirt. There’s no blood on it but there’s another large cut on the sleeve. The second shirt to bite the dust this week, he surmises.

Well, technically it’s Worick’s shirt.

He won’t be happy.

Worick looks up. Nicolas warily stares at the door.

…Knock.

“Oh, um… it’s me,” says a female voice. “Alex, from across the hall.”

“Ah!” Worick puts out his cigarette and opens the door. “Good to see you again!”

Alex gulps as Worick leans over her. Her voice is caught in her throat as she gapes at him. Despite the large smile spread across his face, his eye – he only has the one but it does nothing to dampen the intensity of his gaze. The look he gives her, underneath his jolly exterior, is scrutinizing and electric. It seemingly touches the most intimate parts of her that she thought she had carefully hidden away in the recesses of her heart, even from herself.

He has quite the presence.

“We were wondering if you had moved suddenly. We hadn’t seen you since.” Worick’s voice is light and sweet, like he’s talking to a skittish animal.

“Y-yes, well um… I - moving was more draining than anticipated.” Her eyes dart nervously on either side of her into the empty hallway. It’s quiet except for the occasional shuffle of shoes as people walk up and down the stairwell. She suddenly lifts up the casserole dish in her hands. “I… I made more than I need at the moment. Would you and Nicolas care for some?”

Worick eagerly invites her in, ushering her towards their small kitchen “Please, make yourself at home. I feel bad, aren’t we the ones who should be offering you casserole? Ah… but neither of us are good cooks.”

“No, it’s fine,” Alex automatically retorts. “The fact that you greeted me was kind enough.”

Worick glances at her from the corner of his eye. She is actually looking into eye, her face sincere.

“We should’ve at least cleaned some,” Worick ponders out loud as he stands in front of the kitchen, Alex beside him, and Nicolas warily watching her from the living room. It’s littered with empty drink bottles and take-out menus and containers. “It’s been a while since we had an actual home cooked meal, if you can’t tell.”

Nicolas is silent as he moves past Worick and Alex. He picks up the half full garbage can and swipes his hand down the length of the kitchen table and spills the empty containers into it.

“Let me help.” Alex places the casserole on an empty spot counter and moves forward to pick up a molding foil take-out container.

Worick stops her with a sheepish grin. “How uncool of us for allowing a lady to clean up at her hosts place. And you’ve brought dinner. Let us do this for you.”

“If you’re sure…” says Alex hesitantly. “Then I’ll wash the plates and get dinner ready since the table is already clear. Please?”

Nicolas is wiping down the table as they speak.

Worick finally relents. “Deal.”

If Worick and Nicolas don’t look at one another behind Alex’s back as she hums while washing dishes, a faint memory of another in her place, then neither comment on it.

Although it is odd to sit down and actually eat at the table instead of haphazardly placing leftover containers on it as they walk by.

“Delicious!” Worick grins as he bites into his third helping.

Nicolas shrugs noncommittedly despite the fact he’s on his fourth plate. Gravy is smeared on the corner of his lips.

They practically inhaled their first helping.

“I’m glad,” replies Alex with a relieved grin. “I only had ingredients for shepherd’s pie, and I didn’t know what your dietary habits were…”

“We’ll eat anything,” states Worick between mouthfuls.

Nicolas rolls his eyes and signs, ‘ _You still refuse to eat brussel sprouts_.’

“That was from when we were kids! My palate is refined now!”

Alex picks at her half eaten portion while watching them argue. It is like listening to a one sided conversation except Nicolas is grinning while Worick continues to flush a deep red, which is telling enough.

It is a refreshing change of environment. She has spent the last few days huddled across the hallway in her apartment. The silence of her little studio apartment coupled with her manic thoughts was debilitating. She would often wake up, rings of blood on her palms from her fingernails pressing into her skin.

Except… her neighbors, they are surprisingly loud, especially since one of them rarely speaks.

She often found herself sitting in front of her door, head pressed against the door, just listening to their conversations.

They argue a lot.

But… they care for another a lot.

The way Worick murmurs Nicolas’ name or the fact that Nicolas’ eyes are always trained on Worick whenever they’re together is evidence enough of that.

Sometimes she spies them from her balcony, walking back from one of their jobs with splatters of blood trailing them.

Handymen indeed.

Nevertheless, she often caught herself smiling when watching or listening for them.

“…lex…”

A tap against the table in front of her snaps her out of her reverie. Her lips are tilted upward. “Y-yes?”

Worick and Nicolas look like they have exhausted themselves from their bickering. They both look at her, curious and, maybe it is her wishful thinking, concerned.

“You spaced out there,” says Worick. His brow is furrowed, his one good eye carefully inspecting her.

Alex shakes her head, “I’m so sorry. It’s been a while since I ate with other people. I was just enjoying it.”

“Speaking of, we haven’t spoken about you at all and you’re the guest of honor,” muses Worick. Nicolas looks up. “So, Aly-dear, what brings you to this neck of the woods?”

Alex is a beauty. It is not unusual to see beauties in their part of town. Except…

“I was a mistress,” replies Alex; very nonchalant, as if she was commenting on the weather or the crown molding of the apartment.

Worick and Nicolas pause mid-chew, barely noticeable if she had not been carefully observing them.

“Or rather,” she explains. “I was first a prostitute and then hired later on as a mistress. And now… I’m here.” The scrape of wood against their floor is grating when she pushes back her chair and abruptly stands up. “Would you like anymore casserole? I think there’s enough for another helping.”

“That’s quite a tale,” remarks Worick softly. Nicolas continues eating. Their eyes are trained on her back, her shoulders squared straight.

“It is,” she agrees.

They don’t see her for another week.

It’s not as if they notice, per say.

Work is busy.

They are handymen after all.

If Nick or Worick glance at the door, silent and unassuming, when they return after many of their jobs, then neither mention it.

Work eventually becomes more hectic as the days go by. More shady men and gangs are creeping around their district and no one knows the reason.

The men slit their throats rather than allow themselves to be captured.

Sometimes they see a whisper of dark hair disappear from her balcony.

When they walk down the hallway to their apartment, bones aching and bruises forming on their skin, it is not unusual for them to see a casserole in front of their door.

The pan is still hot to the touch.

-

A scream.

It pierces the night like a hot steel knife – desperation, fear, terror: _help me, help me, **help me**_.

Worick jolts and Nicolas grabs his sword.

They are at her door, adrenaline pumping through their bodies like a storm.

Nicolas easily kicks down her door and Worick is right behind him, gun drawn, as they storm in.

Alex is in a corner, hot tears streaming down her face, her body curled in a tight ball as she attempts to meld her body into the wall. A large hand grips her hair close to the scalp, forcing her to look upward at her captors. Three large men in plain clothes and crazed grins stare down at her. Her clothes are in a disarray, her nightgown is ripped in half, exposing her body to eager eyes.

Nicolas eyes widen, his grip on his sword tightening.

“Go,” mutters Worick.

Those men are not given the opportunity to scream.

Alex shakes when Worick falls to his knees, a hand stretched out towards her.

“Alex…”

“I’m sorry…” she weeps, an arm covering her bare chest while the other wipes her face. “I’m so sorry, Worick, Nicolas.”

“I dislike women who apologize immediately,” says Worick as he gently slides his fingertips against her cheek, smearing the moisture across her flushed skin.

Alex leans into the gentle touch – _how long has it been since she’s been touched like that?_ – her face cradled against the palm of his hand, “Sorry.”

Worick briefly closes his eye before opening it and lifting her up in his arms. She is surprisingly solid despite her slight build. He glances at Nicolas. “You’re staying with us.”

Nicolas stands off to the side. His face is carefully blank but he tips his head down, just the slightest, as he sighs in resignation.  

Alex doesn’t give up much a fight. Just a wide-eyed look at both Nicolaus and Worick, tears dripping down her cheeks, before whispering in a small voice, “Okay.”

She’s in the shower while Worick and Nicolas wait for Inspector Chad to deal with the bodies. They are both standing in her doorway, gazing inward. The box, brown, battered, and still wrapped in desk tape, is in the corner. There is a futon in the corner with a small suitcase. Her little kitchen is spotless with a pot, a pan, and a single oven mitt.

‘ _And I thought our apartment was sad_ ,’ signs Nicolas as he picks up her suitcase.

Worick remains silent, a cloth in his hand as he wipes away whatever evidence that they were the cause of the bloodshed.

The sun is starting to rise when Worick and Nicolas step back into their apartment. Chad gave them a firm lecture for the past hour or so while Cody inspected the crime scene.

Alex is sitting on the couch in Worick’s shirt, her hair damp and her hands folded together on her lap.  

“I’ll… leave soon,” she states, her head still bowed low.

“Stay,” says Worick. He lights a cigarette, emitting a sigh of relief as the nicotine floods his lungs.

“… what?” She looks up, her chapped lips parted in disbelief.

“Your… casSeroe was… acceptable,” says Nicolas. He is sitting slouched across from her with dried blood staining his shirt. His words sound harsh – the vowels grating like rusted steel. His words are sloppily arranged, like jigsaw pieces smashed together, but… there is kindness in it.

“We don’t have much in here,” says Worick. He places her unopened brown box beside her. “But we have a couch and we like your food.”

Alex slowly nods, fresh hot tears sliding down her face as she chokes back sobs.

This kindness is wasted on her, she thinks.

Later that early morning, Nicolas and Worick are finally in bed, exhausted. Alex is asleep, covered in a flimsy throw they found in the back of the closet, on their couch. They need to buy her a proper comforter.

‘ _You’re too soft_ ,’ signs Nicolaus.

“She’s interesting,” says Worick with an unapologetic smile. He rests his head against Nicolaus’ outstretched arm and presses a kiss against his bicep. “You know I’m weak to a lady’s tears.”

Nicolas scowls, ‘ _You need to shave_.’ His hand rests firmly against the back of Worick’s head, keeping him pressed against his side.

“Later,” yawns Worick as he closes his eye, sleep quickly embracing him.

When they emerge from their bedroom later that afternoon, sleepy and warm, they pause.

The apartment is unrecognizable.

It’s… clean.

Jarringly so.

Food is already on the table, steam wafting from the meat and eggs. Alex is wiping down the counter when she finally notices them.

“Good morning,” Alex smiles shyly at them. “I made breakfast – well, brunch. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Huh…” Worick slowly walked toward the kitchen, his fingers trailing against the beat up couch. It is damp and smells like detergent. “You really didn’t have to do all this, Aly.”

“I know but…” Alex peers up at the two, fidgeting under their scrutinizing gaze. “I wanted to thank you somehow…”

Nicolas takes a seat at the table, the wooden chair is quiet under his weight. He frowns. Even though he can’t hear, he can usually feel the chair groan underneath his dense build.

‘ _Odd woman_ ,’ he signs before grasping his fork.

“He said thanks for the meal,” lies Worick as he sits down.

“It’s fine,” says Alex with a small smile. “I know… me being here is weird but…” she suddenly bends forward, her head lowered. Worick and Nicolas pause.

“Thank you… thank you so much for allowing me to intrude for the time being.”

Worick clasps her shoulder, forcing her to sit up properly. “Aly, don’t make it awkward. We’re happy to help a neighbor out.”

-

It’s only been a month but her touches in the apartment are small and large simultaneously.

Alex rarely leaves the apartment.

She spends most of her day cleaning or manning the phone for Benriya. Sometimes, she’ll offer to go down to the corner store to retrieve Worick’s cigarettes for him. They saw her once, before she left, standing in the doorway to the outside, her hands covering her mouth as she attempted to take calming breaths, her eyes clenched shut. When she finally stepped onto the street, a nervous but assured expression was on her face.

“She a tough little lady,” remarked Worick to Nicolas as they observed her heading to the smoke shop.

Nicolas does not respond, his eyes locked on her form as she finally located the smoke shop in a corner alley.

Alex is quite busy in the apartment though.

They are two men after all – it is unsurprising the amount of rubbish and dust that has accumulated in the corners of their one bedroom apartment.

Nicolas glances at his and Worick’s shirts, clean and carefully pressed and folded on their bed. He can see they have been mended, carefully stitched and – unless someone was seriously looking – the damage nearly untraceable.

Today, she’s not in the apartment. The bedsheets are gone.

He walks out into the hallway – her apartment has yet to be rented out. Under investigation, says the landlady. She merely glances at Alex before turning and walking away.

It probably won’t be rented out for a long while.

Nicolas reaches the rooftop stair and –

He cannot hear.

He has never had the luxury of hearing, at least, from what he can remember.

He does not know what his own name sounds like.

But…he can _feel_ it.

It’s a weight, a peripheral feeling on the edge of his fingers.

Like when gunshots are whizzing by his face. He can see them and he knows when they’re coming towards him. He imagines what the bang sounds like.

He knows when Worick is gasping his name, feeling the press of his lips against his ear and the emerging scruff on his cheek scraping against his face.

He doesn’t have to hear to understand.

The air is different atop the roof he notices– gentle almost, and as fragile as a fleck of snow. He opens the door softly and sees why.  

Alex is singing.

She is hanging laundry, the radio beside her. She must have found a radio station with music because it’s not a low hum while half asleep next to the window – Worick is the one to watch her then, a serene expression on his face when he listens to her – but rather, she’s singing a full blown song. The smile across her face is wide and unburdened, her body graceful and weightless as she sways to the music and sings up into the sky as clean, white bedsheets lightly flutter around her.

The sky is blue, the sound of traffic below barely reaches them up on the rooftops except for the occasional police siren.

It’s almost peaceful up here.

Nicolas is silent when he trails behind her. She doesn’t notice him for she is in her own little world. Her long hair, bound in a messy ponytail, sway with her movements – from the slight swing of her full hips or the arc of her lean back as she attempts to pin a pillow case to the clothesline.

Alex almost looks like she’ll float away if he turns away.

His fingers reach forward, several strands of her silky hair slip past his fingers like water. He stands behind her, mesmerized. She slides a hand through her bangs, interrupting his thoughts, and causing him to stumble a step backward as he registers his actions.

He moves away.

And stops.

The pull of her being, her presence, like a gravitational feed, keeps him from touching that door knob leading him back into the apartment.

Nicolas grunts. Frustrated.

Instead, he settles himself behind the sheets that ripple gently in the wind in front of her.

She’ll notice him in time.

Until then, he’ll just wait.

And watch her, his eyes trained on her full, smiling lips.

Alex finally spots him after she finishes her song. “Ah… hello, Nicolas.”

His only acknowledgement of her is the narrowing of his eyes.

“The weather is nice today,” she comments as she folds Nicolas’ tank top. She found it lying haphazardly in the bathroom. The dark material is thin and worn, but still soft to the touch. Just like its owner, she muses.  

“Are you heading back with me to the apartment?” Alex asks as she bends down to grab the full laundry basket. She is stopped when Nicolas smoothly slides between her and the basket, grabbing it before leading her back to the apartment.

Worick is already back at the apartment, just finished hanging up his coat. He’s exhausted, he spent the full day in the police precinct helping them with consultant work.

“Seeing your smiling face is a lifesaver, Aly,” sighs Worick as he embraces her – just a platonic side-hug, his palm on her shoulder, and his cheek rubbing against the smooth skin of her temple.Nicolas rolls his eyes as he places the laundry basket on the coffee table.

“Welcome back,” she answers with a smile. She has grown used to his tactile behavior.

Worick’s stomach growls. “What’s for dinner Ally?”

“I was thinking pork since I got a great deal on it earlier this morning at the market” responds Alex, pulling away and heading to the kitchen. “Do you two have any requests?”

“…fied… ice,” Nicolas mumbles.

‘ _Okay_ ,’ she signs. ‘ _I can make that_.’

“I’ve been craving fried rice as well,” she says out loud with a smile. Her signing is slow and clearly rough but it’s an attempt. She continues signing while speaking. “You two wash up. Food will be ready soon.”

“Well, look at that,” chuckles Worick.

Nicolas is clearly taken aback, his eyes darting from Worick to Alex before he abruptly turns on the heel of his boot and skulks to the bathroom.

Worick had noticed a few weeks ago that their bookcase had been cleaned and carefully alphabetized by author. Nicolas’ sign language book, however, was not on the shelf. Instead, it was often on the reading desk, carefully bookmarked.

Later that evening while sitting in the living room and half dozing in their respective chairs, their stomachs full of fluffy fried pork rice, is when Alex speaks.

“I told you both right…? That I was a mistress?”

“You did,” confirms Worick. Nicolas watches her mouth.

She doesn’t continue. Not right away.  

“After my employer died, he was rather old man, he didn’t die because of me, of course – like in the middle of sex or whatever.” She smiles down at the cup of tea in her hands, it is a bitter and crooked smile. She’s rehearsed this explanation over and over again, but it never seems to get easier. “He had health ailments already. I knew he favored me but I didn’t know until later when found out I was in his will.”

Alex’s flexes her fingers against the warm ceramic mug, the heat seeping into her bones like a surprise summer rain. She looks back up to them, “I’m pretty sure there’s a death sentence on my head…” She tilts her head toward their window, the dim flashing lights of the neon signs in the streets below them.

“I can leave by this evening,” Alex states finally.

“Nah,” responds Worick before taking a swig of his hot bourbon tea. “You’ve spoiled us, we’ve become used to your food and housekeeping too much.”

Nicolas’ eyes flicker up to her before he settles more firmly against the couch. His shoulder bumps into Worick’s. He signs, ‘ _I’m hungry again_.’

“O-oh, okay…” responds Alex. She shoots them a grateful look before she scurries off to the kitchen.

She opens the fridge door, the blast of cold air a welcome relief. She sniffles. She must have put too much spicy seasoning in the fried rice.

-

They have nightmares often. It rarely happens at the same time.

Their dreams…

Jagged lattices of memories constantly emerging and reburied amidst a dust storm of emotions.  

The smell of cigarettes like acid melting against tar.

The crack of wood.

Worick abruptly opens his good eye.

A shadowed figure is holding him close. Silky strands of hair litter across his face and a familiar warm body is on top of him.

It’s soft and warm. Not like the carnal soft from his former clients; this is more like a hot bath after a long day.

Rarely is he this confused.  

Worick hears Nicolas grunt.

A pained whimper erupts from Alex’s throat.

Alex?

Worick’s eye quickly adjusts to the sparse light of their bedroom, and sees her, looking down at him with a concerned expression.

“Alex?”

“Good evening,” she says softly, her voice tight.

His gaze trails down Alex’s arm and he spots Nicolas, huddled on his side next to him. Alex’s hand is inside of Nicolas’s balled fist.

“Alex!” He sits up only to have Alex push him down onto his sweat soaked pillow with her free hand. Her nose is pressed against his forehead, her plush lips brushing against his damp, delicate skin as she responds. His breath shudders.  

“It’s okay…” she whispers. She pressed a hand against his cheek, her thumb sliding against the curve of his cheek where his eye used to be. Her eyes are looking over Worick’s head, her eyes trained on Nicolas as him as he moves in and out of consciousness. “I’ve got you.”

Nicolas’ gaze settles on Alex. His pupils are blown, his breathing haggard and he can feel delicate bones press underneath the pads of his thumbs.

“Nicolas…” Alex murmurs. He sees her mouth move, her mouth opening and closing, the glimmer of her teeth, as she sounds out his name.

Eventually, Nicolas’ gasps into the air and lessens his grip on her. His fingers attempt to move from hers except she reaches out to him and intertwines their fingers together. Immediately, he clutches her hand like a drowning man, gentler like she’s glass.

Worick’s bare arm slides around Alex, his fingertips gliding over the patch of bare skin between her tank top and panties, and holds her close. With his other hand, he slides it across the rumpled sheets and covers their hand with his.

“We’re okay,” she breathes softly, curled between them. Her long, smooth legs brush against theirs, needing to feel their warmth – to know that they’re alive.

Eventually, Worick falls asleep to the sound of Nicolas’ breathing.

Alex watches them sleep, her fingers gently tracing the hard won calluses on their palms.

Worick wakes up again, surprisingly well rested. There is a warm spot between him and Nicolas.

Nicolas is still lying on his side, awake, his eyes boring into Worick’s. The dark circles underneath his eyes are not as noticeable. His breathing is even and full and the hand resting between him, the fingertips tinged red.

“Yeah, buddy,” says Worick as he leans up, his back pressed against the cool headboard. “Was rough night.”

 _Was_.

Nicolas’ gaze trails down to the warm spot beside them. It smells like fresh air and cheap laundry detergent. He can still feel her – that softness that he long thought would never be in his reach again.

With a huff, he flops onto his back and stares at the closed door. Behind that flimsy wood barrier is a living space that includes a couch, a radio, a rickety table with three chairs, a tiny kitchen with mismatched dishware, and a woman with beautiful brown skin and piercing blue eyes that calms the turbulent winds of violence and suffering in his soul.

Judging from the look in Worick’s face, he feels it too.

Longing.  

Worick sniffs the air, the corners of his lips twitch upward. “Pancakes.”

They shuffle into the living area. Worick purposefully steps on the creaky floor board that he can’t seem to fix properly.

“Good morning,” Alex notices them and turns around, greeting them warmly. She is wearing a large sweater, the kind with sleeves that extend to her fingertips. The reasoning is not lost on their astute eyes. They can see the shadows of bruises on her brown skin. The scratches, long jagged and puckered, carefully covered in bandages.

“Hurry up and brush your teeth,” she says and signs simultaneously. Her sign language is shaky but solid. She remembers her fingers, still bandaged and bruised and hurriedly turns around. They can see her discreetly tug the sleeves of her sweater down. “Breakfast will be ready soon.”

Worick combs a hand through his unruly hair, fond resignation in his voice as he turns to the bathroom. “You truly are spoiling us, Al-dear.”

Nicolas doesn’t hear them, focused on her. He doesn’t realize he’s walking forward until he spies his own reflection in the window, his hand stops just short of brushing against the full curve of her hip. Worick is watching him from the bathroom, a toothbrush in his hand and a knowing expression on his face.

Alex is humming, placing a pancake into a large platter beside the stove.

Nicolas bristles, his mouth purposefully turned downward before walking toward the bathroom. His shoulder roughly bumping into Worick’s.

Breakfast is quiet.

Alex sits between them, carefully cutting into her pancakes. It is difficult, with her fingers shaky and still battered. When she gets up to retrieve the pitcher of water, she is interrupted when Nicolas abruptly stands up to grab it in her stead. She turns around and her pancakes are already neatly cut for her. Worick is busy cutting into his own pancakes while Nicolas jabs an entire pancake with a fork and shovels it into his mouth. 

She takes a bite and smiles.

It is delicious.

-

Alex often finds herself standing in front of her old apartment door.

She cleaned it once, after the police tape had been taken down.

She had found specks of blood and brain matter in the corners of the floor boards. 

Still, no one has moved in yet.

“We were thinking about buying this apartment so we could basically have the whole floor to ourselves,” says Worick from behind her.

“Hello,” she greets, her voice steady despite the panic that coursed through her body until she realize the owner of that voice. She shifts her body weight on her other foot. She can feel his breath against the back of his neck. She is glad she wore her hair down, maybe he won’t notice the tips of her ears turning red.

“We decided against buying it just before you rented it out. Too much space.”

“Ah.”

He places an arm on either side of her, his palms flat against the door of her former apartment.

Alex evenly breathes in and out, her heart wanting to erupt from her chest.

Worick sighs, his breath – it smells like fresh tobacco and cedar – waft against the side of her face. “We really are bad hosts. Letting a lady sleep on the couch all the time.”

“It’s a comfy couch,” she replies. He’s so close to her. If she took a step back…

“I like it… as as you don’t mind me using it.”

“You deserve nicer, Alex.” She can feel his heat behind her, warm like the rising afternoon sun. “But until you decide you’re able to leave, you can stay with us. Couch and all.”

Alex stares at the door. An imprint of Nicolas’ shoe is still on the wood grain. She often traces it with her fingertips when she’s walking back to the apartment.

“We won’t force you to leave when you’re ready nor will we stop you from leaving.”

“Thank you,” she answers, her voice trembling. His arms move closer around her, she can feel his skin brush tenderly against hers as he grasps the bucket of laundry from within her hands. He moves it over head and suddenly, she can no longer feel his warmth.

“Come on, I think your stew is ready.”  

“Okay,” she repeats, standing outside for a breath longer before following him inside.

-

Connie swings an arm around her shoulders. “So you’re the infamous Alex.”

“H-hello,” Alex blushes, nearly dropping her grocery bag for tonight’s dinner. The sun is slowly setting behind her and she’s in a rush to return back to the apartment. The sales on meat had been very good today and a small brawl had nearly broken out when Alex had attempted to fill her basket.

Alex had seen Connie in passing, mostly as she was taking the laundry down from the rooftop. She was a young lady that lived two floors beneath Worick and Nicolas’. She managed a weapons store just a block away from the apartment building.

“I heard those two guys were harboring a lady,” remarks Connie.

“Just temporarily,” replies Alex hurriedly. “Until I can find a safer place to stay.”

“It’s been a few months already,” Connie replies, her eyes carefully scanning Alex’s form.

Her steps falter.

Has…it been that long already?

Alex blushes when the other girl’s eyes stay on her bust longer than necessary. “It’s not like that.”

Connie grins, a wide one that shows off her white teeth. “I wasn’t implying anything. You clearly have a dirty mind.”

Alex squeaks, attempting to quicken her pace. Connie easily matches her pace.

“So why are you staying with them?”

“I… have nowhere else to go.”

“Because you killed someone?”

Alex embraces the bag of groceries harder. “No! No – not technically.”

“I expect to hear this story whenever you have the opportunity,” chuckles Connie as she affectionately pats Alex’s head.

Alex returns her smile. Connie’s presence is infectious.

The hand on her head pauses.

Connie tugs Alex down to the ground as more hot lead whizzes past their bodies.

“Connie!” Alex is frantic as she lies underneath the other woman.

“Stay low!” Connie yells.

Alex grunts as she pushes the other woman further into the alleyway away from the spray of bullets that hit the sidewalk where they were laying before. She huddles over Connie, murmuring over and over again, “Sorry.”

Screams are heard.

They’re coming, Alex reassures herself as she holds Connie tightly.

“Monster!”

Alex and Connie look up.

A flash of silver and the sound of bullets fly over their heads.

“Connie!”

A man in a suit with a large scar over his head kneels down towards them, his arms outstretched.

“Marco!” Connie reaches out toward him, relief clear as day on her face as she throws herself into his arms.

Alex sits up, cringing. Connie’s arm is bleeding. A stray bullet had pierced her skin. It is a superficial wound but…

“Alex saved us!” Connie says as she helps Alex stand up.

“Only after you saved me first,” says Alex, her fingers resting below the bleeding wound. She tugs off the scarf she was wearing and wraps it around Connie’s arm.

Connie and Marco watch her as Alex wraps it securely around her arm. Her fingers are trembling.

They share a look.

Connie gently pats Alex’s shoulder as she stares sadly at her arm. “It’ll be fine. I’m made out of tough stuff.”

Marco sighs deeply but hugs her close. His hand taps a wooden board next to them. “Knock on wood. Also, I really wish you would stop boasting about that.” He extends a hand to Alex, “I’m Marco. Connie has been wanting to meet you for the longest, so she’s a little over enthusiastic.”

“I’m Alex,” she answers, turning around when she hears a thud.

Nicolas is behind them. A smear of blood across his face and her battered bag of groceries in his arm. Worick steps up beside Nicolas, blood splattered across his dark colored shirt.

“Oh,” Alex quickly turns away from them and walks over to their side. She tugs down her sleeve and leans forward to wipe away the blood on his face.

“I think…I have some club soda in the bag…” Alex says, looking frantically at the bag in Nicolas’ arms, “It should get rid of the blood.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Ally,” replies Worick. He flinches when she presses a hand against his shirt, above the blood stain.

“It’s not mine,” he says easily.

Alex opens her mouth to respond but abruptly closes it and nods, focusing on her tasking of cleaning up Nicolas’ face.

Nicolas scowls with her attempts but makes no movement to move away until she is satisfied. When she reaches forward to grab the bag from her arms, he finally turns away and walks forward.

She moves to follow but pauses, looking in the direction of the building where the gunfire originated.

Worick places a gentle hand on the curve of her back, “Come on.”

“But…”

“We’re already taking care of it,” Marco reassures her. Another man, brown-skinned with long dreadlocks, peers from the railing from one of the rooms. His knuckles are bloodied and he has a self-satisfied grin on his face. He points a balled up fist down towards Marco.

Marco grins, raising his own hand in similar fashion.

“Go ahead, Alex,” says Connie from beside Marco. She makes a shooing motion towards her.

Alex turns her gaze from the building, where there are certainly cooling bodies, to Worick’s smiling face, to Nicolas’ retreating back, and finally at the two. “O-okay.” She takes a step backward, but pauses. “Well, please, inform me if you ever want to come by for dinner.” She nods up at Galahad, “Invite him as well. I’ll make plenty!”

“I’m always available for a free meal,” giggles Connie.

“Sounds good, I’ll ask Galahad,” Marco replies.

Alex grins, happy before turning away with Worick to catch up to Nicolas.

Marco notices Nicolas purposefully slow his pace for Alex and Worick. The two men discreetly placing her between them, their arms occasionally brushing against her shoulders.

“They’re cute,” remarks Connie.

-

“What are you making?” Nina peers over the counter, excitedly watching Alex whisk cream, speckles of vanilla bean, and sugar in a bowl.

She met the young nurse after her apartment break-in. As repayment for her care, Alex met with the young girl nearly every week to bake cookies.

“It’s a secret,” replies Alex, grunting as she briskly whips the mixture together. “Although I wouldn’t mind if you guessed.”

“Pie!’

“Nope.”

“Ice cream?”

“Incorrect,” says Alex as she grins into the bowl. Stiff white peaks of whipped cream stare back at her.

Connie rests her head on Alex’s shoulder. “Hmm…cake?”

“Bingo!” Alex smiles as she puts the bowl of whipped cream into the refrigerator.

“What kind of cake?” Nina asks, sniffing the air. She presses her face close to the oven where the cakes in questions are baking.

“Now that’s a secret,” says Alex as she wipes her hands on a kitchen towel. She takes a sip of the wine Connie, Marco, and Galahad brought over, sighing into the taste. “So good!”

“It better be,” says Loretta, turning her gaze from the oven to Alex and Connie. Marco and Galahad had brought her, she was their employer, they had stated. “I looked for ages for the proper supplier of this wine.”

“She means, ‘You’re welcome,’ Alex,” says Galahad as he walks by, their kitchen table in his arms.

“You have amazing taste,” said Alex with a grin.

Loretta blushed, clearly happy at the compliment. “Obviously.”

Apparently her invitation to Connie, Marco, and Galahad had inadvertently been an invitation for half of the apartment complex to stop by for dinner. They had moved it onto the rooftops in order to accommodate everyone.

Thankfully, this dinner had quickly evolved into a potluck, meaning people brought their own dishes as well, making it easier for Alex who nearly had a panic attack at the notion of almost a dozen people joining them.

“What a lovely site to see,” states Worick as he peers into the kitchen from the doorway. “All these lovely ladies gathered and giggling together.”

“Get outta the way,” Dr. Theo mutters as he breezes past Worick. In his arms are several long thick baguettes. “Is there where I’m supposed to drop off the bread?”

“Here, let me help you.” Alex grabs a loaf while Connie grabs the other. “I’ll take this up to the roof with the other food, thank you, Dr. Theo.”

Theo nods. He watches Alex and the other girls disappear down the hall.

Worick opens a fresh packet of cigarettes.

“Well, Doc?”

“Your suspicious were right,” confirms Theo as he leans against the wall. “Galahad couldn’t find any identification on them was an identification itself, but I found tattoos, barely perceptible unless you were looking for it, on the inside of their ankles.”

“Hitmen,” murmurs Worick. He knew he had seen their faces somewhere.

“Your Alex really is a wanted woman,” said Theo. “Must’ve been some very powerful man she slept with.”

“She didn’t mention much about him…”

“Well, they want her dead. The fact that they did it openly this time in broad daylight means they must be desperate.”

“We usually take care of them before they get this close,” states Worick. He offers a cigarette Theo who accepts. “They hadn’t tried in a couple weeks… I suppose we were being too hopeful.”

“Is Chad helping you?”

Worick snaps open his lighter, offering the flame to Theo first. “He is, but there’s not much we can do. She’s tight-lipped about who her employer was, which she has every right to be. She deserves her privacy.”

Theo eyes Worick carefully. He exhales, smoke slowly streaming upward from his lips. “Not if it means you and Nicolas are constantly putting your lives on the line for her.”

Worick remains silent.

Outside in the hallway, Alex closes her eyes. She had given the bread to Loretta and returned to the apartment to remind Worick to pull the cakes out of the oven before they burned.

She slips off her shoes and silently returns to the rooftop. She reminds Marco as he walks back down the apartment.

“What’s strong, Alex?” Connie peers at her curiously. She frowns, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Alex leans forward and presses her forehead against the other’s shoulders, “Just a little tired.”

“Come on, let’s grab some more wine!” She grasps Alex’s face in her hands, the palm of her hands warm against Alex’s chilled cheeks. “Loretta even brought a karaoke machine!”

“Wha…?”

“Worick asked me to bring it,” says Loretta as she directs her attention to the set-up in the background. Galahad and Nicolas are attempting to install it.

“Ironic,” states Loretta with a giggle. “A deaf man helping to set up a sound system.”

Alex is silent, a distant expression on her face.

Nina and Loretta share a glance before Loretta grabs Alex’s hand and drags her onto the stage.

“Are you done, Galahad?”

“Ah… just about.” A wild screech erupts from the large speakers. Several car alarms ring below on the streets.

Nicolas blinks, unphased.

“We’re good now, Miss.” Galahad is blinking rapidly, his ears ringing.

“Good.” Loretta thrusts the microphone in front of Alex. “Come on, sing.”

“I… what?!”

Galahad claps a heavy hand onto Alex’s shoulder. “We heard you’re quite the songbird, let’s hear a tune. I’ll help.”

“I don’t – I don’t really – “

“Please?” Nina looks up at her eagerly.

“I… I’ll try,” Alex finally relents.

Galahad grins, pushing her towards the makeshift stage. “Everyone! Some entertainment before dinner!”

Alex is sincerely regretting her life decisions as she rubs her sweaty palms nervously in front of the small crowd of neighbors. Marco and Theo arrive, the pot roasts she made in their possession. Worick follows behind them, her cakes, carefully decorated with whipped cream and berries, in his hands.

“Hello everyone…” she says shakily into the speakers.

Galahad has a guitar in his arms, patiently waiting for her signal.

Alex inhales. Nervousness tingling in her system like freshly opened soda pop. Nicolas is standing beside the speakers, carefully watching her. Worick saddles up by his side, leaning against the shorter man. He shoots her a thumbs up.

She clenches her fingers together. She exhales.

“Thank you for having me here.” Alex smiles, her eyes lingering on Nicolas and Worick. Her fingers stop trembling.

-

“Aly is feeling unwell?” Worick leans up from their bed with a yawn. He does not smell breakfast being made. She must be sleeping in, which is unusual for her but given that the air has been growing colder as of late, it’s not surprising she may want to sleep in a little longer.

They still have plenty of leftovers from last week’s gathering. A slice of Alex’s almond cake with a cup of coffee sounds amazing right now.

He walks, barefoot and shirtless, into the living room. An extra quilt is thrown over his arm. He half expects to see Alex curled in a little ball on the couch, her head just peeking out from underneath her comforter.

Nicolas follows him, yawning widely and running a large hand through his sleep tousled hair. His eyes immediately fall onto the couch. 

The couch is completely bare.

Worick frowns. His eyes scanning the apartment.

Nicolas walks over to their small bookshelf. He drags his fingertips against the spines of the book until it lands on a carefully well-worn book. He tilts the book on its spine.

His sign language book.

Worick peers into the bathroom. Her toothbrush and single bottle of shampoo are gone.

Aside from the cleanliness of the apartment, she always made sure her impact in their living space was minimal.

If only she had followed that same rule on their lives.

Worick stops in front of their kitchen table. It is wiped clean and still smells faintly like shepherd’s pie from last night’s dinner. On top of the gleaming hard wood is her cardboard box. It is battered and the desk tape that once held it together is frayed. It was recently opened.

On top of the box, scribbled carefully on a slip of paper is a message.’

‘Thank you.’

Worick rips opens the box.

Bills, hundreds and hundreds of dollar bills flutter out. They are all large bills, all one hundred dollar bills. He quickly does the math. There must be at least one hundred thousand dollars in that box.

A newspaper clipping flutters out.

It’s an obituary.

He is a distant cousin of a small mafia family that has been slowly making a name for themselves in the city. Worick remembers reading about him in the newspaper. He is a ‘proper’ businessman. Proper meaning that he has his cousins do the dirty work like throwing corpses into lakes while he enjoyed himself in the board rooms squeezing money from innocent citizens and businesses.

He recently died from a heart attack at a dinner party.

The autopsy was inconclusive about the cause of death.

Worick nearly rips the phone from its hinges. “Forward me to Inspector Chad right now!”

Nicolas crumbles the note in his fist.

-

“You know they’re looking for you, right?”

“They’re better off.” Alex looks straight ahead, her suitcase rolling against the bumpy road behind her. Loretta is leaning outside of the window of the car driving slowly beside Alex. She had noticed the woman just in time, minutes before she had received a frantic text from Connie, stating that Alex had gone missing.

Loretta frowns before she throws opens the door. The driver scrambles to stop the car as she jumps out of the car and starts walking beside Alex. Galahad exits the car as well and follows silently behind them.

“Why do you say that?”

“My being with them is likely to get them killed,” Alex stated.

Loretta and Galahad share a look. Their silence is telling.

“So you knew.” An accusation.

A rightful one.

“Your handymen traded their manpower for our intel,” admits Loretta. “They wanted to protect you.”

“I nearly got Connie killed.” Alex clenches her fists, her steps speeding up. “All those months and I never knew…I thought that one time made it clear that…that those people shouldn’t go after me anymore…” She smiles bitterly onto the ground. “That was silly wishful thinking.”

“Benriya are big boys,” insists Loretta. “They can handle themselves.”

“I’m just a neighbor,” Alex continues. “I’ve been imposing on their kindness for too long.”

Loretta grabs her wrist and stops her in her tracks. “You idiot! Do you think you can face the Donovan group on your own?”

“No,” replies Alex honestly. “Not in the least.”

“Then why did you leave?” Loretta seethes.

“Because I’m selfish.”

“What?” Loretta and Galahad stare at her.

“I was happy. Ridiculously happy,” admits Alex. There is a lump of emotion stuck in her throat and she wants to slap herself. She is no longer that silly girl who believes in those fairytales with knights and princes and requited love. “I was so happy with them. I want to keep that memory untainted before they realized how disgusting I am.”

“Idiot,” Connie repeats, her voice tight.

-

It is quiet.

They walk into their apartment, blood dripping from their boots and fingertips onto a once pristine floorboards. They still half expect Alex to be waiting for them, ready to scold them for trekking in gunk onto her clean floors, but more importantly, their dinner is growing cold.

Nicolas slouches in the chair across from the couch where Alex used to sleep. Worick refuses to go near it nor will he allow anyone to sit on it.

Her smell still lingers on it like a stubborn stain.

Fresh air and cheap laundry detergent.

The money that she kept in her inconspicuous box is in the corner. Quiet and undisturbed. It is covered in more tape.

It’s been a week and there has been no word from any of their contacts to her whereabouts.

Those hired men are still lurking and Worick and Nicolas have more than enough pent put frustration to deal with them.

They’ve spoken to Chad twice a day and made him and his staff swear up and down that they would notify them immediately if a woman or corpse with her description shows up at the typical mafia dumping grounds.

 “She’s still alive…” mutters Worick out loud. He lights a cigarette but it does not touch his lips.

Nicolas does not hear him but nods anyway.

That woman…

Nicolas sees her. She is sitting on the couch across from him. Rich brown skin and long, soft hair the color of midnight. Her eyes stare at him, fond and happy, like a clear spring morning sky.

They had said they would let her go.  

-

“I’m pretty sure this is a human rights violation,” says Alex as she furiously scrubs the floors. Her back is already stained with sweat. “Honestly, where is the health inspector?”

“On payroll,” replies Doug as he wipes down the windows. He grimaces at his cleaning cloth, completely blackened from that one swipe.

“Ridiculous.” Alex grunts as she dumps the mop into the bucket of warm, soapy water. “How do you expect to open Bastard II in a month when this place is basically a condemned building?”

“With your help,” Doug shrugs, as if it was a given. “I heard your housekeeping skills are legendary.”

“This is an entire building!” Alex exclaims as she slides her mop down the hall. Her fingers are sore and aching, the tips rubbed raw from attempting to clean the little corners and crevices of the first floor. She has five more floors to finish and Doug is minimal help.

“Well you cleaned the first floor in a week.”

“That was – that…” Alex abruptly turns away and mops in the other direction. Her grief, her sadness, the misery of not seeing Worick or Nicolas had caused her to go on a cleaning spree. She probably had at most twenty hours of sleep the week she left Nicolas and Worick.

Loretta had dropped her off on the outskirts of the district that morning.

“No one should be able to find you here,” stated Loretta with a self-satisfied smile, shoving a pair of thick-rimmed glasses in her hands and a bunch of bobby pins.

“…what?” Alex stared at the wretched building. It was one of the larger historical buildings bordering between the two cities. It had clearly seen better days.

No one would look for her in a place that, with one good strong wind, seemed like it could blow away.

“This is the location for my secondary store, ‘Bastard II’,” Loretta explained. She jabbed a hand at a young fellow who couldn’t look older than thirteen. “Doug is going to be the manager for this location. He’ll be helping with repairs and cleaning.”

Alex stared.

“I’m twenty-one!” Doug barked.

“Yeah, yeah,” stated Galahad as he patted Doug’s head. Instantly, Doug perked up, despite the pout that stubbornly remaining on his lips, like a younger brother happily being praised by his older brother.

“What is it… that you are asking of me?”

“You clearly can’t go back to your former profession as an escort-slash-prostitute. Or rather you _could_.” She looked up at Alex, her mouth set in a grim line. These were not the eyes of a young woman on the cusp of puberty. “However, if you decide to walk those streets, I suspect less than a day out here, without my help, the police will be calling Worick and Nicolas to identify your corpse.” She paused, “That is, if the police are so lucky to even find your corpse.”

Galahad smiled sympathetically at her from behind Loretta.

“So, I have a business proposition for you.”

And that is how Alex found herself mopping down a floor that had clearly not seen sunlight in almost a decade.

It is better this way, she rationalizes as she wrings the filthy mop water back into the bucket.

They’re safe, she reminds herself.

Without her.

Alex’s room is on the top floor. It is the only clean room on the floor, but most importantly, it is the only room closest to the sky and facing District 8 apartments. If she wishes hard enough, she can imagine they are looking at the sky along with her.

“Don’t get into any trouble while I’m gone,” Doug warns her. After a long day of cleaning, it was time for a night out for drinks and delicious bar food with his friends from the original Bastard.

“Right, right,” assures Alex. She smiles fondly down at him from her perch on the balcony as she watches him walk toward the bar where his friends were located. She waves at him when he turned around to make sure she was staying put. He huffs, startled, before hurrying away.

Alex closes her eyes, her head pressed against the side of the cool glass window. She breathes slowly, her lungs expanding and contracting deeply in her chest, and she clenches her fist.

“You’re okay…” she whispers. She opens her eyes, focusing on the familiar speck of what is her former living space with Worick and Nicolas. She raises her hands and slowly, carefully signs ‘I miss you’. She abruptly drops her hands onto her laps and sighs. “I have such bad luck with men.”

Her stomach growls, interrupting her from her self-pity.

“I should’ve told Doug to grab me something to eat before he left,” grumbles Alex as she stands up. There is a tiny deli in the corner where she and Doug go often to grab food. Usually they will eat together and bicker, mostly about their cleaning styles or a sports game.

“He won’t mind if I go outside for a bit…” Alex assures herself as she covers her head with the hood of her oversized jacket. She readjusts her glasses before locking Bastard II.

Alex wore her makeshift disguise despite the fact it was late in the evening and hardly anyone was out. Her hair was tied up into a bun and she wore unflattering clothing. Instead of tight blouses and low cut skirts, the outfits that Loretta had provided, outside of the cleaning jumpsuit, consisted of large sweaters and hoodies. The stretchy yoga pants are comfortable though.

It is quiet out. It is past midnight and the guys looking for prostitutes have all found their girls for the evening. The walk to the deli is quiet.

She is greeted immediately when she walks in.

“Hello!”

“Good evening,” says Alex as she settles herself on the counter. “H… Hausen, was it? Where’s the boss?”

“The boss left a little while to go for uh… a smoke break,” Hausen smiles, smiling guiltily out of the window. He scratches the skin next to the diagonal scar across his forehead as he glances back at her. “So I’m here in his stead.”

“Ah.” So it’s _that_ type of smoke break. She remembers the owner once propositioned her for sex the first time she came in with Doug for lunch.

Doug nearly flipped a table over on her behalf.

“I’ll just take a sub sandwich.”

“Coming right up.” Hausen turns towards the counter of meats. “Just by yourself today?” 

“Doug’s drinking with his buddies,” she sighs, rolling her eyes.

“I swear, if he didn’t carry his birth certificate with him, I wouldn’t have known he was of legal age, let alone drinking age!”

Alex chuckles. “I agree.”

Hausen slices her sandwich. “Are you going to eat here?”

She glances at the clock. There is no one waiting for her…

“Here please.”

“Will do!”

She rests her chin on the palm of her hands, her eyes closed, and listens to the radio blare music from decades ago.

Being separated from them is becoming… bearable, she thinks.

She does not notice Hausen momentarily disappear into the back.

Alex sighs happily as she finishes the last bite of her sandwich. “You’ve done it again. The perfect sandwich.”

“High praise from such a lovely lady as yourself,” replies Hausen as he wipes down the table.

“A man who makes the perfect sandwich deserves it,” Alex says as she stands up. She hands him a cash before she turns to leave. “Keep the change. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The bell rings, signaling her departure.

“Maybe,” says Hausen as he watches her retreating back.

-

Alex knows she is being followed. Bastard II is only three blocks away, she thought she was safe. She can’t lead whoever is following her back with her to the brothel. She ducks into the alleyways and runs.

The bar where Doug frequents is just a block over.

She can make it there.

She can.

She has to.

A rough hand grabs her arm and roughly turns her around.

That face.

She spits into it.

He roughly slams her into the wall of a nearby building.

“Your grandfather rightfully gave me that money,” she says despite the ringing in her ears.

“You stupid bitch. That was chump change,” sneers the current Donovan CEO. “He left you all of his portion of the company. Thanks to you and that senile old man, I nearly lost the company.”

He rummages a hand into pocket and pulls out a gun. “With I finally have your death certificate and a picture of your corpse, the old man will’s which includes you will be void.”

Alex stares at him in the face, bracing herself for –

A knee slams into the man’s head, sending him flying into an empty, foreclosed store. She can see the splatter of brain matter against the wall of the store.

“What…?”

Two pairs of arms surround her.

“…trouBle…Some wOman,” mutters Nicolas into her hair. His arms are wrapped around her middle, his nose pressed against the tender curve of her neck. Her legs are on either side of him as she sits atop his thighs. He is breathing heavily against her, his arms like a steel vice around her. She has seen him sprint across five blocks without ever breaking a sweat.

“You really need to give us a break one of these days, Alex.” Worick sighs, exhaustion evidence in his voice as he presses himself close to her, his chest pressed against back. He presses his nose against the crown of her head and inhales. “Good thing Hausen called us when he saw you were walking outside on your own.”

“W-what…?”

Worick continues. “Give us an easier job next time Aly. Taking out the Donovan family was way harder than anticipated.”

“Y-you did what?”

“We single-handedly erased a mafia organization and subsequently trampled over a corrupt business organization,” replies Worick as he rests his chin against her head. His lips brush against her hair as he speaks. “We’re on your payroll, remember?”

The box.  

The cash.

Her voice trembles. “You said you both would let me go…”

Nicolas leans away, his rough hands sliding across her cheeks. Her glasses lay abandoned on the sidewalk. His thumbs pressed against the curve of her cheeks. His brown eyes gaze into hers.

Her heart pounds like a jackhammer in her chest.

“So I was wrong,” says Worick, his voice light-hearted in an attempt to play it off. Nicolas’ arms tighten around her, almost crushing in their grip. She knows better. They are upset. “I thought you were in love with us as much as we were with you.”

Oh.  

“Idiots,” she cries as she pushes herself forward and slams her mouth into Nicolas’. He is clearly caught off guard but easily catches up, his mouth eagerly opening and tasting her. His shoulders slump in relief.

“Thank fucking god,” Worick sighs as he wraps his arms around her, his arms pressed against Nicolas’ as he trails kisses down the side of her head. With a clever twist of his fingers, her jacket is tugged loose, bearing the inviting skin of her shoulders. He presses wet kisses along her skin, his tongue dragged roughly down the ridges of her collarbones.

Alex whimpers into Nicolas’ mouth when Worick’s hands reach underneath the hem of her sweater and slide underneath. His cold fingertips feel like ice against the warm skin of stomach, his mouth like a furnace against her neck. Nicolas’ uses her temporary distraction to dip his tongue further into her mouth, drinking her essences like a starving man.

Her hands are atop of Worick’s, separated through a cloth barrier of her sweater. His hands move upward to towards her chest, his large palms cupping her full, unrestricted bosom.

“No bra, huh,” murmurs Worick hotly as he presses his thumbs against the firm nubs of her nipples, kneading his hands into her welcoming flesh as she shudders at their touch.

She feels one of Nicolas’ hand ease off her face and rest against her thigh, easing up upward; his grip on her hot and firm. She squeals when his blunt fingertips brush against her wet center through the thin material of her soaked panties, and clamps her legs together. She pulls away from Nicolas and pushing Worick’s hands away from her chest.

Nicolas’ hardness pressed against her thigh while Worick’s is pressed against her rear. Her heart beats frantically like it will erupt from her chest at any moment.

Nicolas’ stares at her, confused and worried, his hands resting on her hips. His grip on her barely loosens, but she reaches out to hold his and Worick’s hand. Desperate.

“Not here,” she says. She wants. Oh, does she want. But.

They are in the middle of a side alley, a cooling body just yards away. “Please.”

“Ah, our apologies,” says Worick smoothly. He and Nicolas stand, their hands still pressed against her body. Their touch is absolutely searing yet she still clings to them..

‘ _Home_ ,’ signs Nicolas.

Alex walks between them, pausing when they pass by Bastard II to get to the main road. Nicolas’ pushes her forward. ‘ _Home’_ he signs again.

They hail a taxi.

It is an excruciatingly long ride back to Benriya.

The cab driver obstinately faces ahead.

Alex is in Nicolas’ lap, his hands, large and warm and delicious callused, explore her skin, slipping underneath her large sweater. They slide alongside her abdomen and along her ribcage and rest on the curve of skin where her breasts and stomach met. Her mouth is occupied by Worick, his talented tongue sliding wetly along hers, muting her gasps and moans, devouring every sound she makes as selfishly as he hoards secrets.

The cab driver coughs loudly to catch their attention.

Her foot is barely on the sidewalk before Nicolas’ grabs her, her entirely body balanced securely in his strong arms, while Worick pays the cabman.

The flight up the stairs is a quick one.

She is unceremoniously dropped on the bed.

“I’m afraid, Alex,” says Worick as he removes his shirt. “We won’t be as gentle as we planned to be with you.”

Nicolas’ eyes are steely, like a predator facing his prey, as his fingers turn her clothes to shreds.

Alex is not scared.

Instead she reaches towards them. “Please.”

-

She had forgotten that sex was good.

Oh. _Oh_.

Sex could be _excellent_.

Alex whimpers, grinding down onto Nicolas’ mouth as he eats her out, his tongue rolling lazy eights inside of her as his thumb roughly rubs against the sensitive nub of her clitoris. Her fingers tug against his short hair as she rubs her thighs against his face.

Worick is behind her, Nicolas’ legs thrown over his shoulders, his hips canting forward in even thrusts inside of Nicolas, every jostle from him into Nicolas is another indescribable spasm of pleasure from Nicolas as he gasps and moans against her sensitive skin.  

Her thighs burn as she moves herself up and down atop his face, swiveling her hips because the sensation isn’t enough. His tongues and fingers teasing only egg her on, furthering the flames of want deep inside of her belly.

“More,” she whimpers as she slides her fingers inside of herself alongside Nicolas’ tongue.

Nicolas’ visibly gulps, the pupils of his eyes blown wide as he stares at he watches her wetness and his saliva drip down her fingers.

“Nicolas,” Alex whimpers. “Worick.”

“Fuck,” Worick gasps as he pulls out of Nicolas and lifts Alex off his face.

Nicolas growls but he lifts himself up on his elbows, watching Worick as he rearranges Alex on his lap.

“Come on, lovely,” says Worick as he leans back against the headboard, groaning once he feels his thick length rub against the lips of her spit-soaked vagina. “You ready?”

“Yes,” she moans, her hands pressed against his spread knees, the soles of his feet pressed against the bed, as she lifts herself up. She catches Nicolas gaze and bites her lip in a playful smile. Her fingers are graceful as she signs, ‘Watch.’

Nicolas’ eyes are wide as he watches her lift herself up, a hand around Worick’s length and directed toward her sopping center.

Situated between Worick’s spread legs, he observes in rapture as Worick’s dick breaches Alex, her entire body quaking as she eagerly accepts him inside of her. From the corner of his eyes, he can see Alex’s full lips gasp, a smidge of her porcelain white teeth digging into the corner of her kiss-swollen mouth as she presses herself further downward.

The muscles of Worick’s firm thighs twitch and spasm as she slowly drops downward, her internal walls fluttering around his aching member. The desire to thrust upward is only stopped by sheer willpower.

They need this to be good for her.

“So full,” she whimpers, reaching down to touch the spot that connects him inside of her. Each inch of her skin feels like static electricity is dancing along her nerve ends as she trembles around him, the head of his cock rubbing against her sopping core.

Alex feels exhausted and invigorated at the same time.

Nicolas kneels in front of her. He raises a hand to press against her sweat soaked face, his thumb tenderly tracing the curve of her cheekbone. Her bright blue eyes, hazy with pleasure, are partially obscured by the long fringe of her eyelashes

“Nicolas…” she smiles into his palm, her mouth brushing against the sensitive skin of his palm. She bumps her face against the palm of his hand, the calluses on his palms scratching against her cheek, before she engulfs his thick, battle worn fingers into her mouth. Her eyes are trained on his as she slides her tongue against the blunt tips of his index and middle finger, along the jagged edges of his fingernails, her teeth digging into the rough flesh of the pads of the tips.

Nicolas’ length throbs against his stomach as he curls his finger slightly, her tongue sliding between his fingers.

As quick as she began, she pulls away with an audible pop, her eyes glistening with want.

“Come on, buddy,” Worick groans from behind Alex, digging his fingernails into the soft flesh of his palm to cull the shot of arousal dancing through his blood from watching her suck on Nicolas’ fingers. He grunts, readjusting Alex on his lap, her legs on either side of his body, as he spreads his legs further, baring his fluttering entrance to Nicolas. Thankfully Nicolas’ gets the hint quickly because Worick feels the wet slide of his saliva soaked finger inside of him.

“Hurry it up, I’m not gonna last much longer here.”  As soon as the words leave his mouth, Worick is arching his back off the bed as Nicolas inserts two fingers, stretching him wide open.

“Whoa,” murmurs Alex as she feels him harden inside of her, the head of his cock twitching madly against the sensitive crevices inside of her. She hums a little bit, an innocuous tune as she lifts herself up slightly and abruptly drops herself down, causing Worick to hiss in pleasure. His hands are like a vice on her middle, his chest stained with sweat and heaving with exertion. “You little minx.”

Alex smiles at him from over her shoulder, a teasing little smirk as she wiggles against him in retaliation.

“Oh, you’re gonna get it,” swears Worick before his breath stutters. Nicolas has removed his fingers.

“Good,” she replies, her hands skimming down his thighs, her fingernails lightly pressed against his flesh. She won’t last long either as she watches Nicolas readjust himself between Worick’s splayed legs from her perch.

Alex is captivated as Nicolas holds his dick in his hand, anticipation thrumming through her body as he smears the head of his cock with the lubricant from the bottle by the night stand in order to ready himself for Worick. He has to smirk at the irony since she’s the one with a dick already inside of her.

Alex must have read his face because she grins slightly before reaching a hand forward to slide her fingers down the length of his cock. She lightly tugs forward, her fingers smearing his pre-cum across the tip of his twitching dick, and Nicolas, the quick learner, follows her lead as she helps guide him towards Worick’s waiting entrance.

“Fuck,” curses Worick, burying his head against Alex’s nape as he feels Nicolas breach him, stretching his tight entrance open for his eager member until he feels torn apart and sewed together anew. The slow, hot drag of Nicolas’ cock inside of him has his entire body spasming, leaving no warning for Alex as he suddenly thrusts upward inside of her.

Alex nor Worick are given an opportunity to catch their breath.

Nicolas abruptly slides out of Worick and with the flick of his hips, slammed back inside, causing Worick to jolt and push deeper inside of Alex.

“W-wait,” she gasps but her pleas are muted as Nicolas presses his mouth against hers. He doesn’t give her a moment to gain her bearings. Instead, he thrusts his tongue inside of her in tandem with the movement of his hips. Her fingers scramble for any sort of leverage, one hand clutching Nicolas’ scar stained shoulder, her fingernails digging into the mismatched skin, while her other hand is wrapped over Worick’s as it rests against her abdomen.

She squeals against Nicolas’ mouth with every jostle.

Worick is baring his teeth now. He meant it when he said they would not – could not – be gentle as he digs his mouth into her soft skin. The taste of iron stains his mouth as the double sensation of being filled and surrounded takes its tolls on any sense of propriety he has left.

Their movements are desperate – it is all naked skin sliding along one another, the smell of musk and sweat is potent in the air, and the sound of three voices devolve into an indistinguishable sound.

“…a…Lex…”

Her eyes snap wide open, staring at Nicolas as he calls her name.

Her name on his lips is what leads her comes. It is unexpected, a choked sound of surprise and pleasure leaving her throat as she shudders, almost violently, between Worick and Nicolas’s strong bodies. Her mind is jumbled and jagged, half aware of her surroundings, her mind only focused on the two men around her and the pleasure they foisted upon her.

She can feel Worick pulsating inside of her, the head of his cock rapid twitching against the oversensitive nerves inside of her core as her internal walls squeeze him. He’s close as well. She can feel his hands comfortingly stroke her stomach and sides, clutching her firmly like a lifeline as he nears completion.

In front of her, Nicolas’ head is bowed, his forehead pressed against her, his nose bumping against the side of her face. She can see the dark circles underneath his eyes and the fine wrinkles on the corners of his eyes as he squeezes them shut. Any pretense of control is abandoned as he slams into Worick in disjointed and unfettered movements, the wet slap of skin meeting skin echoing in the air.

Alex presses a kiss the side of his face, just the barest whisper of skin.

“Nicolas,” she murmurs as she reaches between her legs and glides her fingers down Worick’s length, dripping with her release and his precum, and expertly roll his straining balls between her fingers.

“Alex,” seethes Worick, his breathing uneven and almost pained as Nicolas slams into deeply, the head of his dick ramming into his prostate as Alex’s fingers touch him. He meets with completion with a grunt, emptying himself inside of Alex’s willing body.  

“Worick,” Alex purrs against Nicolas’ face. She nips his lips, seeing Nicolas’ movement’s stutter, his breathing labored and broken. She slowly slides her tongue across his bottom lip, “Come.”

Nicolas gasps, his entire body quaking. She holds him close to her as he is still moving, just a sway of his hips really, as he releases a load of hot seed inside of Worick’s throbbing channel.

“Fuck…” Worick mumbles, satisfied and sleepy, into Alex’s damp hair, his body loose and warm like butter against Alex’s as she rests atop of him.

Alex sighs deeply, basking in the feeling of Worick and Nicolas inside and outside of her. The feeling of Worick’s heartbeat, quickly returning back to a slow and steady beat behind her, is quickly lulling her to sleep.

Worick makes a noise, just a pleasured and surprised inhalation of air, when Nicolas slowly pulls out of him. He can feel Nicolas’ cum leak out of him, thick and warm.

Nicolas disappears from their bedroom only to return with a damp cloth. Worick is still in bed, lying on his side with Alex curled in front of him, her back pressed against his front. Her breathing deep and even, her dark skin, covered in a sheen of sweat, softly glowing against the light of the setting moon.

Nicolas quickly wipes down Alex first, being extra mindful between her legs before he cleans Worick.

“Don’t forget yourself,” reminds Worick sleepily as he presses himself close to Alex. Carefully, he moves her hair to the side before burying his face against her shoulder and breathing in her scent.

Fresh air and cheap laundry detergent.

Nicolas grunts before he leaves and quickly returns, bracketing the other side of Alex. She makes a soft noise when Nicolas slides a leg between her thighs, tanging his leg with Worick’s. She resumes her peaceful sleep when Nicolas presses his body against her front, his head against her chest; his ear right against her heart.

He can feel her beating heart. She has a steady heartbeat, strong and sure.  

Their sleep is an unbroken one.

There is banging on the door of their apartment. The morning sun is just barely touching the corner of their bed.

“Door,” Alex mumbles.

“Go back to sleep, Aly.” Worick groans as he throws an arm over her and Nicolas.

“But…” Alex sleepily replies, stopping when Worick presses a kiss onto her shoulder in order to convince her the noise outside of their apartment is but a dream. Nicolas is still asleep, his head nestled between her breasts, undisturbed, his mouth slightly ajar.

She leans downward and presses a kiss against the temple of his head before closing her eyes. She’s just on the precipice of sleep when she hears the slam of the apartment door.

Doug bursts into their room.

“Hey! Don’t expect me to clean by my – holy shit.”

He barely dodges a lamp thrown in the spot where he just stood.

Nicolas growls, a warning glare on his face before he flops back down onto the bed, dragging Alex with him.

“N-Nicolas…” Alex stutters, making no attempt to move away from the solid arms that held her in place.

“Geez, you all are a bunch of perverts,” Loretta says from the living room, a hand covering her eyes. Doug is beside her, his back to them and nursing a bruised ego. “Hurry up and come back to Bastard II whenever you’re done do… do – doing what you do.” Her ears are red. “This is an order to all of Benriya, by the way.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Worick says easily as he waves them away. “We’ll be with you later.”

“Today!”

Worick huffs, pulling the comforter over Alex and Nicolas’s head. “Fine.”

He slides down to rest with the two underneath the security of the blanket, listening to the click of the lock as Loretta and Doug quickly depart.

“And I thought we had a day off,” grumbles Worick. He is quickly placated with the slide of Nicolas’ hands against his thigh.

Nicolas is curled in front of Alex, a heavy arm around her middle and Worick’s leg. His eyes watching them softly from his pillowed position between her breasts.

“Well, we do have a contract with them now, thanks to Aly,” comments Worick.

Alex flushes.

“It’s fine,” continues Worick. “They can wait.”

Worick rests a hand on top of hers. She twines them together and squeezes.  

“We have a more important contract to deal with at the moment.”

Nicolas’ eyes narrow before he gently presses a kiss against the delicate skin of her breasts.

Alex smiles, nodding her head. “Yes.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> It was never supposed to devolve into over 10k, but whatevs.


End file.
